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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



JINGLES OF 
A JESTER 



By 

CHARLES T. GRILLEY 



Illustrations by 

W. H. D. KOERNER 



PEARSON BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 
PHILADELPHIA 



rK72 <J ^ 



JUBRAHY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 17 J 90? 

CopyruM Eniry 

[cUSS * XXc. No, 

COPY B. 



1*7 



Copyright, 1907, by Charles T. Grilley 



*5 



G£o nq>. felloto members; anD coworkers 
of $e il^ceum 

WHO HAVE BEEN KIND ENOUGH TO PRESENT 

TO THE PUBLIC SOME OF 

THESE SELECTIONS 

Wfyiz toolume is gratefully oe&itateD 



NOTE. 

Thanks are due the Publishers of Puck, Drummer' s 
Tarns and Werner' s Voice Magazine for permission 
to reproduce some of the verses which originally ap- 
peared in their columns. 




Proem .... 


7 


De Whitewashin' Man 


9 


Back Home .... 


ii 


Injuns 


. 14 


The Mayor of Centreville 


17 


A Paradox 


• l 9 


Worthy of Paradise . 


21 


At Twilight 


22 


The Stuttering Auctioneer 


24 


The Chap Who's Traveled 


• 27 


Livin' Pictures at Berryville . 


29 


A Lesson from Mother Goose 


36 


Everything Reminds Me So of Chicken 


39 


Had I Only Known 


■ 4 2 


Jes' a Line to Riley . 


44 


My Chips 


• 49 


When Mah Lady Yawns 


5* 


The Town of Yap 


• 53 


My Lady Marionette 


59 


Constancy 


• 63 



CONTENTS. 

The Chee-tau-quay ... 66 

Discontent . . . -73 
No Man Was Ever Known to 'ang for 

Wot 'e Didn't Soy . . 78 

The Last Straw , . . 82 

The Colored Lochinvar . . 83 

A Department Store Ditty . . 87 

The Deserted Farm . . -93 

A Boy's Complaint ... 96 

October . . . . .99 

Good Evenin', Mistah Moon . 100 

Calamity Brown . . . .103 

Little Dan Cupid . . . 106 
"Cr. and Dr." .... 109 

A Keepsake . . . . 1 1 1 

Hay Fever . . . .113 

Oh, Woe Is Me . . . 115 

Before and After . . .119 

The Tin Peddler . . . 120 

The Mummy and the Dummy . .123 

A Question of Authority . . 127 

People are So Different . . .129 

Play Ball, Bill . . . 131 

Stories . . . . • I 33 



PROEM. 

I could not call them poems, I would not 

dare — 
Should you think to criticise as such, beware I 
I prefer to style them " Jingles " ; so Sir 

Critic, if you know 
When a jingler jingles proper, seize your 

hammers, let Vr go. 




DE WHITEWASHIN' 

MAN. 



Comin' 'roun' de cohnah am 
de whitewashin' man ; 
Take wahnin', li'l black 
folks, wahnin' ! 
Brush on his shouldah, an' bucket in his 
han' ; 
Take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin' ! 



If he leahns dat yo' sassy, dat yo' steal, or 

yo' fight, 
If yo' don't he'p yo' mammy, and do eva'- 

ting dats right, 
Yo' will fin' him by yo' bed on some dahk 

an' dismal night ; 
Take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin' ! 



DE WHITEWASHIN MAN. 

If yo' bad, he can fin' yo', no mattah whah 

yo' hide ; 

Take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin' ! 

Wid his long-handle brush he will be da 

by yo' side ; 

Take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin' ! 

If he heahs yo' complainin' 'bout de colah 

ob yo' skin, 
To a ghose he will tu'n yo' wif a coat ob 

whitenin', 
An' yo'll live in a graveyahd fo'evah fo' 

yo' sin ; 
So take wahnin', li'l black folks, wahnin'! 




i 0.Sp 



BACK HOME. 

I want to git back home agin, 

An' git there by th' quickest way ; 

Back to good ol' Poseytown 
I want to go, an' go to-day. 

This city life may be all right 

Fer them as likes its roar an' din ; 

But as fer me, I've hed enough, 
An' I want to git back home agin. 



I'm sick of dodgin' 'lectric cars, 

Of "Hayseed" here, an' "Rubber!" 
there, 
Of signs "Keep off the grass," an' rules, 

An' seein' p'licemen everywhere. 



BACK HOME. 



I want to git my nerves cammed down, 
An' stroll agin through th' village street, 

An' feel th' breeze through th* swayin' elms 
Where folks say, "How-dy," when they 
meet. 



I want to take my evenin' walk 

Down to Holcomb's grocery store, 

An' join th' group thet gethers there 
To talk th' village happenin's o'er. 



Then watch th' mail distributed, 
An' along 'bout half-past eight 

Bid all good-night, then saunter home, 
Where someone's waitin' by tk' gate. 



When all is locked up fer th' night 
I take my lamp an' start upstairs 

To find th' peaceful rest that comes 
To those who know not city cares. 



BACK HOME. 



So gimme a ticket fer Posey town, 

An' remember I want it jes* one way; 

No matter how cheap th' round trip is, 
I'm goin' back home, an' goin' to stay. 



13 




INJUNS. 



A very bad boy was Willie Green, played 

hookey every day ; 
With a yellow-back novel in his lap he 

passed the hours away, 
A-dreaming of the time when he would be 

like Buffalo Bill 
And wear long hair, a wide-brimmed hat, 

and the Injuns he would kill. 
He longed to gallop o'er the plains, hunt 

Injuns day and night, 
Hear bullets singing round his ears, would 

be his heart's delight. 
To slaughter red-skin devils and carve 

them with his knife ; 
Scalp every living Injun was his one great 

aim in life. 



14 



INJUNS. 

Injuns! Injuns! Injuns! He saw them every- 
where, 

Wide awake, or fast asleep >, Injuns still were 
there ; 

Injuns at the football game, at the Wild West 
Show, 

Injun music, turn, turn, turn, wherever he 
would go. 

Modocs from the Black Hills, braves from 
Old Town, Maine. 

Injuns! Injuns! Injuns! He had Injuns on 
the brain. 



He'd walk for many a mile to see an Injun- 
Cowboy play; 

He'd eat a quart of Injun meal for break- 
fast food each day. 

When Injun Summer came around, he 
longed to hit the trail, — 

The lack of funds was all that caused his 
warlike plans to fail. 



INJUNS. 



But, oh, the lottery of life! when he grew 

to man's estate, 
He joined an Injun Medicine Show and 

took one for a mate ; 
And now instead of scalping them, his 

mind is occupied 
In trying to feed a dozen little Injuns by 

his side. 



Injuns! Injuns! Injuns! He sees them every- 
where, 

Wide awake or fast asleep, Injuns still are 
there. 

Injuns at the football game, at the Wild West 
Show, 

Injun music, turn, turn, turn, wherever he 
may go. 

Modocs from the Black Hills, braves from 
Old Town, Maine. 

Injuns ! Injuns ! Injuns ! He had Injuns on 
the brain. 



16 



THE MAYOR OF 
CENTREVILLE. 

I'm tall you 'bout my frien' Batiste 

Napoleon Archambeau, 
Dat come from Canadaw ten, 

twelve, maybe nine, year ago. 
He wit' hees brodder Pete dey 

work in great beeg cotton A 

meel f 

Somewhere in dat Rhode Island State ; I 

t'ink it Centreville. 
Batiste get seeck of job an' soon back home 

he mak' hees way 
To Canadaw, an' leave Pete dere to come 

some nodder day. 
Now Pete he's steeck right to hees job, he's 

what you call steadee; 
He never drink, nor smoke cigar ; jus' 

raise beeg familee. 
17 




THE MAYOK OF CENTKEVILLE. 

Soon Pete he have a bank book, an' when 

on de street he go, 
De boys don't call heem Pete no more ; it's 

Meester Archambeau. 
Somebody met Batiste back home wan day 

upon de street, 
An' ask him what de news has been latelee 

from brodder Pete. 
Batiste he say de last letter from Pete back 

home he's sent, 
It say dat now in Centreville Pete was de 

President. 
De man say, " President, Batiste ? Dere 

sure is some mistake. 
In little town like Centreville no President 

is make." 
Den Batiste shake hees head an' say, 

" Wall, mebbe dat ban so. 
Say, what is call a-a-a lady horse, not horse 

dat's man, you know ? " 
" Oh, you mean a mare." " Dat's hit, my 

frien' ! " cried Batiste with a will; 
" Dat's de kin' of horse my brodder is. 

He's mayor of Centreville." 

18 





A PARADOX. 

A youth was born' in lowly life 
Whose daily round was toil and strife. 
He worked his way through college course, 
Then started out, and by sheer force 
Pushed on to Congress, where the laws 
Of State are framed — and all because 

He helped himself. 

A second youth, with everything 
That wealth and influence can bring, 
Was dropped from college, would not work, 
Then started in a bank as clerk ; 
Next chapter finds this youth in jail. 
The reason why ? The same old tale, — 

He helped himself. 




19 



WORTHY OF PARADISE. 



A poet died, and when at length 
His spirit came to Heaven's gate, 
There stood an angel who would pass 
In judgment o'er his future state. 

"What hast thou done?" the angel asked, 
" To claim a place mid the seraphim ? " 
"I have refrained," the poet said, 
" From writing a poem with the title 'Jim.' ' 



21 




AT TWILIGHT. 

When the twilight meets the firelight, 
And their shadows softly blend, 

Then my heart goes out in sadness, 
To the day so near its end. 

Like the lives of all us mortals, 
Each day sinks at last to rest, 

While the gathering shadows hover 
Like a bird upon its nest. 

Another day beyond recalling, 

Vanished like the clouds o'erhead. 

Gone ! Dost thou realize the import 
Of the words ? To-day is dead ! 

'Tis the hour for retrospection, 
O'er the happenings of a day. 

Was it well or idly given, 

Canst thou answer, aye or nay ? 



AT TWILIGHT. 



We are traveling toward the twilight ; 

Like the day now gone to rest, 
Soon we all must find a haven. 

This has been God's great behest. 

Ponder well your every action, 
Twilight comes to every one; 

Be prepared to hear your Father 

Ask you then, "What hast thou done ? " 



23 



THE STUTTERING 
AUCTIONEER. 



I'm nearly c-c-razy, almost w-w-wild, 
I've been so s-s-since I was a ch-ch-child ; 
To all things else I h-h-have been b-b-blind, 
I've hadj-j-just one th-th-thing on my mind: 
I w-w-want to be an auctioneer. 



Th-th-there's something 'bout the way 
h-h-he stands 
And pl-pl-pleads and g-g-gestures 
with his h-h-hands. 
No m-m-matter what I 

have, I deem 
M-m-my g-g-greatest joy, 
my p-p-proudest dream, 
-t-t-to be an auctioneer. 
24 




THE STUTTERING AUCTIONEER. 

I th-th-thought one day I'd t-t-try my hand ; 
So bought some g-g-goods and t-t-took my 

stand 
Upon a d-d-dry goods box, and there 
I st-st-started on my way for f-f-fair 
To be an auctioneer. 



" G-g-give me an offer," first I said, 

" For this b-b -beautiful walnut f-f-folding 

bed." 
T-t-two dollars was its c-c-cost t-to me ; 
Why, they r-r-ran it up to t-t-twenty-three. 
Oh, lucky auctioneer ! 



I th-th-thought 'twas time t-t-to stop them 

there 
Or soon I'd be a m-m-millionaire ; 
But when to holler, " S-s-sold ! " I tried, 
I c-c-couldn't s-s-say it if I d-d-died. 
Oh, luckless auctioneer ! 

25 



THE STUTTEKING AUCTIONEER. 

Each bidder cl-cl-claimed he'd b-b-bought the 

bed. 
" It's g-g-getting too h-hot for me," I said; 
So d-d-down I j-j-jumped, ran to a well, 
L-1-leaped in, and sh-sh-shouted back, 

" F-f-farewell." 
Unhappy auctioneer ! 

If a p-p-policeman hadn't heard me shout 
Wh-wh-when I disappeared, and f-f-fished 

me out, 
All covered with moss and wr-wr-wringing wet, 
I g-g-guess, by gum, I'd b-b-been there yet, 
A half-drowned auctioneer. 

I haven't q-quit ; oh, no, not me ! 
I don't g-g-give up s-s-so easily. 
I trust b-b-before I come to d-d-die 
And go up y-y-yonder in the sky, 
I'll have a ch-ch-chance, s-s-someday, from dawn 
Till night, to cry, " G-g-going ! G-g-gone ! " 
Then I can say with c-c-conscience cl-cl-clear, 
" I d-d-die a f-f-full-fledged auctioneer." 
26 



THE CHAP WHO'S TRAVELED. 

How easy to spot that wonderful man 
To whom the earth is a limited span, 
He's a bore with all the rest of his clan. 
Who ? The chap who thinks he's traveled. 

He abhors what is new in trunks or bags, 
His suit case is plastered completely with 

tags; 
He's heard all the latest stories and gags. 
Who ? This chap who thinks he's traveled. 

! He imagines by using the blase pose, 

/7\ If he kicks good and strong wher- 

""vi ever he goes, 

PT And acts horribly bored, then every 

^vW— one knows 

ll\ \mt" ^ e certam ly must have traveled. 

V LsS-d 2 7 



THE CHAP WHO S TRAVELED. 

Every waiter is " George " in each cafe, 
He longs to be back on " dear Broadway " 
Where he knows all the stars of every play. 
Who ? This chap who thinks he's traveled. 

To himself he's a regular " man about 
town ; " 

Ten to one he's a bluff and if run down, 

He's a shoe clerk from Yonkers or Tarry- 
town, 

And that's as far as he s traveled. 




LIVIN' PICTURES AT 
BERRYVILLE. 

'Twas due to Si Rand, of th' Berry 

ville Band, who first interdooced 

th' craze ; 
It came like a bolt from a summer sky, 

an' left th' town in a daze. 
Th' Band they wanted new uniforms, some 

'at was tailor-made ; 
With these they could git a job at Troy in 

th' Fo'th o' July parade. 
So they started a paper to raise th' funds, 

but found that never'd do ; 
Not a soul outside of th' Band itself would 

contribute a single sou. 
" The critters thet play is th' ones to pay," 

remarked ol' Beezy Kirk ; 
" Th' folks thet hes to hear their noise, 

they're th' ones thet does th' work ! " 
29 



livin' picttjbes at bekbyville. 

So things went on in Berryville till abeout 

a month ago, 
When Si went deown to Boston town, 

where he saw a Vo-de-ville Show. 
They hed what was called " Livin' Pic- 
tures " there, that made a hit with Si. 
Sez he, "Th' show wan't nothin' great, but 

them pictures took my eye." 
Then Si proposed thet Berryville should 

hev some " pictures " too. 
Sez he, "we could take th' profits thet we 

make an' buy us them uniforms, new." 
Th' members of th' Band, with a few f'om 

outside, an' some live stock that's tame, 
Could pose fer th' different characters an' 

scenes, inside of a big gilt frame. 
Si sed he knew jes how 'twas done, an' if 

they'd let him hev his way 
He'd give 'em a show thet Berryville 'ud 

remember for many a day. 
Th' scheme was received as th' easiest way 

to raise th' sum desired, 
An' Si was appointed a committee of one 

to git everything required. 

3° 



livin' pictures at bekryville. 



He sed th' price should be popular, within 

th' reach of all ; 
At twenty-five an' thirty-five they couldn't 

but pack th' hall. 
That night he drew th' plans fer th' frame, — 

'twas to be 'bout twelve foot square, — 
An' he lay awake nearly all night long, fig- 

urin' out what each 'd wear. 
Some biblical scenes mixed in between fer 

th' church-goers, Si allowed, 
Together with groups of worldlier themes, 

would be sure to catch th' crowd. 
So he picked Chub Hurd, who played 

double-bass, an' th' strongest man in 

teown, 
To pose in the role of Samson when he 

tore th' temple deown. 
Th' Bumpstead children, six in all, were 

grouped in a scene called " Spring "; 
While Maginnis, only Irishman in 

town, was to do a " Scotchman 

in th' Highland Fling." 
Miss Clementina King, a sweet, sad 

thing, who wrote fer th' village 

press, 3 i 




livin' pictures at beebyville. 

Was to pose as Longfellow's Evangeline, 

in a milk-white muslin dress. 
Si sed this one would be marvelous, a per- 
fect pastural scene ; 
So he rented a calf, fer a ticket an' a half, 

to pose with Evangeline. 
Th' calf was owned by the Widder Hunt, 

an' if she hed ever known 
What th' calf would do when it made its 

" day-bu," well, Miss King would have 

posed alone. 
Th' masterpiece was "A Day on th' Farm," 

a reg'lar scene from life, 
With some hens an' a goat, flock of sheep 

an' a shoat, were standin' 'round a 

farmer an' his wife. 
Well, everything went as smooth as silk 

right up to th' time of th' show ; 
Th' hall was packed, never seen such a 

crowd way deown to th' very front row. 
With his hair well iled, Si smirked an' 

smiled, shook hands an' nodded an' 

bowed, 



32 



livin' pictubes at bebbyville. 



Swelled up with pride, an' chuckled inside, 

as he thought of th' profit in th' crowd. 
At th' back of th' stage confusion reigned ; 

the animals blatted an' crowed, 
An' to make things worse in the middle of 

it all, Maginnis arrived with a load. 
Irishman like he wanted to fight an' was 

bound thet he would sing ; 
So Si he guessed 'twas altogether best to 

dispense with th' Highland Fling. 
When th' Bumpstead children laid deown 

their wreaths, jes' fore they entered th' frame, 
Th' goat got loose, by slipping of his noose, 

an' proceeded to eat the same. 
This was too much for Si, and with blood 

in his eye he made fer th' goat like a flash ; 
Mr. Goat humped his back, met Silas' attack, 

an' they both came together with a crash. 
Well, 'twas eight fifty-two 'fore they fetched 

Si to, an' they started on picture one. 
Si thought an earthquake ^. &■ 

had struck the stage w Jj\ s> <J 

but the excitement 

had only begun. 

33 I 





xjvin' pictures at beeeyville. 

(J^ 55, When they got to th' scene of 
Evangeline, Miss King 
turned pale in th' face 
When she saw four men seize th' calf 
in its pen, an' drag it out to its 
place ; 
There she posed with her pail, while 
th' calf whisked its tail, and wob- 
bled and shook with fear ; 
As the curtain was raised, th' calf seemed 
dazed, till it heard the audience cheer ; 
Then it let out a blat, knocked Evangeline 
flat, quivered, side-stepped, bellered, 
an' fell 
Clean out of th' frame, tippin' over th' same, 
then made fer the crowd pell-mell. 
Th' big gilt frame when it downward came 
struck the footlights and smashed 
them on th' floor ; 
In the darkness that follered, everybody 
hollered an' made a mad dash fer th' 
door. 
When at last all were out, and scurryin' 
about, tryin' to see what damage was 
done, 34 



livin' pictures at berkyville. 

They heard a loud roar, an' out through 

th' door came th' calf, as if shot from 

a gun. 
With its tail in th' air, it ran like a hare; 

its course no one dared to retard; 
We knew mighty well, if nothin' befell, 

'twould soon be in Widder Hunt's 

yard. 
Thus ended th' show of the Berryville 

Band, an' " Si's Livin' Pictures " as 

well. 
Whatever became of th' money they made, 

no one's ever been able to tell ; 
But if you should happen to visit th' town, 

unless you're a marksman of skill, 
Be sure an' not mention " Livin' Pictures " 

to one of th' natives of Berryville. 



35 



A LESSON FROM MOTHER 
GOOSE. 

Is there any moral to be found in the rhymes 

of Mother Goose ? 
There certainly is, and good ones, too, if 

the reader's not obtuse. 
For instance, take the one about our old 

friends Jack and Jill, 
And their perilous adventure with the 

bucket on the hill. 



The moral is that when you go for liquid 

in a pail, 
Whether it be of water pure or possibly 

of ale, 
Don't take a maiden with you to help you 

bring it back, 
Or you may get all tangled up, as did our 

good friend Jack. 
36 



A LESSON FROM MOTHER GOOSE. 




Then there was that observing miss — I 

mean the one called Muffet, 
She who always ate her meals while seated 
on a tuffet. 

The lesson is that when you see 
# black spiders in the air, 

It's time you sought a Keeley cure 
and changed your bill of fare. 



The moral in the jingling rhymes that tell 

of Little Bo Peep, 
Is never to worry when you miss such 

property as sheep ; 
Your innocent lambs, all nicely shorn, in 

Wall Street you can find, 
And the tales they tell will certainly beat 

the tails they left behind. 

37 



A LESSON FROM MOTHER GOOSE. 

There's the story of the pieman who once 

journeyed to a fair, 
And the nerve of Simple Simon, who 

asked to taste his ware. 
This teaches when a fellow's broke, a fair's 

no place to go ; 
For you can't get pie and other things 

unless you have the dough. 



Although her name belied her gifts, old 

Mother Goose well knew 
What she was doing when she wrote such 

lines as Little Boy Blue. 
While blowing his horn she blew her own, 

and now where'er you roam, 
You will find no place without her book's 

worth calling " Home Sweet Home." 
38 



EVERYTHING REMINDS ME SO 
OF CHICKEN. 

Fo' 'bout a month this dahkey has been 
tryin' 
To shake his sinful ways and be religious, 
But dere seems to be a hoo-doo round me 
lyin, 
My temptations dey have grown to be 
prodig'yus. 
Fo' instance, I'se a natch'al taste fo' chicken, 
An' it seems to be my fate where'er I go, 
Even though I may be comin' from prayer 
meetin', 
I'm sure to hear some rooster softly crow. 

An so I makes de claim 

Dat a dahkey aint to blame 
Fo dat oV desire dafs ever to him sticking 

No matter whah he'll go. 

At least I've found it so> 
Everything reminds me so of chicken. 

39 



EVERYTHING REMINDS ME SO OF CHICKEN. 

Dis mornin' while at work a fence white- 
washin', 
Some boys was playin' base-ball 'cross 
de way ; 
De langwidge dat dey used was powerful 
shockin' ; 
'Twas enough to make dis dahkey's hair 
turn gray. 
I started den to give dose boys a lickin' ; 
When dey saw my objeck dey began to 
howl. 
Jus' den dat ball come bang against my 
stomach, 
An' I jus' remember someone yellin' 
" Foul." 

r „^. Art so I makes de claim 

Dat a dahkey airit to blame^ 
Fo no doubt dose boys dey well 
deserved a lickin ', — 

But even den I will be 

bounds 
As I lay dah on de ground^ 
Dat "Foul " dey hollered made 
me think of chicken. 
40 




EVERYTHING REMINDS ME SO OF CHICKEN. 

Jus' one more instance I am bound to 
mention, 
The memory of it fills my soul with 
shame. 
I fell asleep in church las' Sunday mornin'. 
Since it happened, I have never been 
de same. 
'Bout "Angels' wings " de preacher man 
was talkin', 
I was dreamin' 'bout a chicken, I've no 
doubt ; 
When I heard him mention wings I whis- 
pered softly, 
" Don't forget dat hen-house do' when 
you come out." 



An so I makes de claim 

Dat a dabkey aint to blame 
Fd dat oF desire dat's ever to him stickin ', 

No matt ah where he'll go. 

Even at church I found it so, 
I'here was something there reminding me 

of chicken. 

41 



HAD I ONLY KNOWN 



Dear mother, now that thy loving face 
Is gone from its old accustomed place, 
My heart turns back with a dull, sad pain, 
To those days that will ne'er return again. 
And I long for the time of youth once more, 
To hear thy voice as I did of yore, 
Making the burdens of boyhood light 
By the mother-love in each fond good- 
night ; 
And I think of rewards that were thine by 
right- 
Had I only known. 




Brave, patient soul, through all the strife 
And cares that fell to a mother's life, 
Thou gav'st no token of inward grief, 
But bore thy burdens with a firm belief 
42 



HAD I ONLY KNOWN. 



That we are but creatures of God's com- 
mand, 

To be moulded as clay in the potter's hand. 

Thy greatest pleasure, thy constant thought, 

To accept His teachings and question 
naught. 

What lessons to me by thy life were 
taught, — 

Had I only known. 



'Tis hard to think of that fateful day 
When we came to the parting of the way ; 
And though hours of sadness have passed 

since then, 
'Twould be cruel to wish thee back again ; 
For where thou art I know full well 
Thy loving presence will cast its spell, 
And there, dear mother, 1 long to be, 
Seeking forgiveness on bended knee 
For those duties delayed, — my debt to 

thee, — 

Had I only known. 

43 




JES' A LINE TO RILEY. 



I'm jes' a plain old farmer, an' my occu- 

pashun's such 
' T I never went to college, an' I dunno 

overmuch 
Abeout the frills an' furbelows of higher 

eddicashun ; 
But readin' books for years has been my 

princ'pal recreashun. 

44 



JES A LINE TO RILEY. 



Take winter evenin's, when outside the 

ground is white with snow, 
I sit in my old rockin'-chair, by the fireside's 

ruddy glow, 
And foller hist'ry's onward march, from the 

earliest days of men 
Down to the time when incubators did duty 

fer th' hen. 



Then I hev my nights when poetry seems 
to soothe my tired old head ; 

It brings a peaceful feelin' when I go up- 
stairs to bed. 

I like the jingle of the rhymes, they lull 
me off ter rest ; 

An' that James Whitcomb Riley is the one 
that suits me best. 



45 



JES A LINE TO RILEY. 



His rhymes are so blame satisfyin' they git 

ye from th' first ; 
They're like a draught from some cold 

spring when you're burnin' up with 

thirst. 
Th' feller seems to know jes' how to sorter 

aidge his way 
Right plumb into yer confidence, an' then 

he's there to stay. 



If any man can read that one abeout " Old 

Man an' Jim" 
Without th' pathos of it all a-comin' home 

to him, 
If it didn't 'feet him that way, an' he was 

anywhere's near by, 
You bet I'd buy a watch-dog an' hev my 

hens roost high. 



4 6 



JES A LINE TO RILEY. 

Then " The Goblins '11 Git Ye." That's 

so creepy, I'll be blessed, 
The chills went up my ol' spine bone, an' 

I yelled like all possessed. 
I had a feelin' like it once, it made my 

blood congeal ; 
'Twas when wadin' barefoot in the pond 

an' I stepped upon an eel. 



Take " Out to Old Aunt Mary's," with its 

wealth of tender rhyme, 
" 'Mongst the Hills o' Somerset," an' that 

one "In Swimmin'-Time " ; 
That last was so blame natural I started 

then an' there 
To peel my clothes off — yes, I did! — an' 

dive right off the chair. 



47 



JES A LINE TO RILEY. 



Lucindy grabbed me jes' in time or I'd 
surely broke my neck. 

You see when once he gits ye they ain't no 
power can check 

The flights yer immaginashun takes ; it car- 
ries you everywheres. 

You can see the hold it got on me, makin' 
spring-boards out o' chairs. 



I'm gettin' toward threescore an' ten, an' I 

hain't got long to stay ; 
But while I'm spared my eyesight I will 

pass the time away 
A-readin' Riley — bless him ! An' God 

grant him many years 
Of health, an' wealth, an' happiness, with 

nary cause fer tears. 



4 8 



MY CHIPS. 

( A heart throb from a follower of the great American game, 
after reading Ella Wheeler Wilcox's " My Ships.") 



If all the chips I have at sea 
Should happen to return to me, — 
Those stacks of red and blue and white 
That I have blown e'en many a night, — 
Oh, what a joyous time 'twould be 
To see those chips return to me ! 



If half my chips came back to me, 
You'd see some tall hilarity. 
If ever that pipe-dream came true, 
My wealth would rival any Jew, 
So rich the treasures that would be 
In half my chips now out at sea. 



49 




MY CHIPS. 



If just one chip I have at sea, 

A blue one, say, should come to me, 

'Twould be most welcome, for I'm broke, 

With all my summer wear in soak. 

A blue one would just set me free 

From ignominious poverty. 



O Fate, be kind ! O Fortune, too, 
And send them all, red, white, and blue ! 
But if you needs must hold some back, 
Remember, when you sort the stack, 
Just pick one out of bluish hue, 
And send that blue one P. D. Q. ! 



5° 




WHEN MAH LADY 

YAWNS. 



When mah Cah'line yawns, ah'm 

'spicious 
Dat she tinks de time po'pitious 
Fo' me to tu'n mah 'tendon to de clock 

upon de wall. 
Dats de cue to quit mah talkin', 
An' a gentle hint dat walkin' 
Would flicitate de briefness of mah call. 



Th' fus' gal that ah coh'ted — 
Ouah ma'idge it was thwated, 
Because ah was so green ah didn' know 
When she yawned it was behoovin' 
Dat dis dahkey should be movin', 
Twell at las' she says, " Fo' Lawd's sake, 
niggah, go ! " 



51 



WHEN MAH LADY YAWNS. . 

Den ah took mah hat an' stahted, 

An' fom dat hour we pahted, 

An' ah nevah seen dat cullud gal no mo'. 

But it taught me dis yer lesson 

Dat a yawn am de expression 

Dat invites yo' to be movin' to'ards de do'. 



So take dis friendly wah'nin, — 

Should yo' lady-love staht yawnin', 

Although de sudden pah' ting cost yo' pain, 

If she's one you'd like t' marry, 

Aftah one good yawn don' tarry, 

Den yo' sho'ly will be welcome da again. 



52 



THE TOWN OF YAP. 



[Dedicated to the members of the Lyceum and 

Dramatic profession who have experienced 

some of the trials and tribulations 

of the one-night stands. ] 



Have you ever heard of the 

town called Yap ? 
It's a place not featured on the 

map, 
Nor will you find its name inside 
The covers of a Railroad Guide. 




But if you have toured from Portland^ 

Maine, 
Out to the Rocky Mountain Chain, 
And from New Orleans to Calumet, 
This town you never can forget. 



53 



THE TOWN OF YAP. 



When you strike the station, in the air 
You feel " the frost " that's waiting there 
To seize you in its iced embrace 
The moment that you show your face. 



No agent or baggage man in sight 
As you sadly down from the train alight ! 
The place may bear another name, 
But this is Yaptown just the same. 



A mile of mud to the Farmer's Home- 
Talk of the Klondike or Cape Nome ! 
Touring that country would be a snap 
Compared to an evening spent in Yap. 



Two dollars per for a room like a cell ; 
You take it or leave it, or go to — well, 
Down goes your name; what else can you 

do? 
So you take your medicine and give up 

your two. 

54 



THE TOWN OF TAP. 



When you reach your room you breathe 
a prayer 

That heaven will preserve you while sleep- 
ing there; 

The bed has a mattress as hard as a stone, 

At the thought of rest you inwardly groan. 



You gaze at the bed, then turn down the 

sheet, 
Knowing all too well what your eyes will 

meet. 
They are there — the one live thing, by gum ! 
In the whole blame town who are glad you 

have come. 



When you glance at yourself in the looking- 
glass, 

A horrible change has come to pass ; 

One eye is gone from its usual place, 

While your nose is twisted all over your 
face. 

55 



THE TOWN OF YAP. 

In the depths of the pitcher lurking there 
You discover a lock of the chambermaid's 

hair; 
While a fungous growth in the washbowl 

appears, 
That has been collecting for years and years. 



The hotel is bad, but the town hall 's 
worse ; 

The fire-engine's stored there, likewise the 
hearse ; 

It's used for court-house, inquests and 
jail; 

Likewise for hangings, if such should pre- 
vail. 



The worst is to come when you show that 

night ! 
The collection of Yaps is a wonderful 

sight; 
They smell of horse as they all troop in, 
And whistle and yell for the show to begin. 
56 



THE TOWN OF YAP. 



When you get to the quietest part of the 

play, 
Down the aisle conies the janitor wending 

his way, 
And proceeds to the stove and dumps the 

grate, 
And rattles in coal at a fearful rate. 



You grind your teeth and rail at fate, 
And cuss the agent who booked the 

date, 
And long for the hour and the train that 

will bear 
You away from Yaptown, no matter where. 



You hear such remarks as these of your 

play: 
" 'Twas too blame solemn," is what they 

say; 
" We hain't no use, an' never will stand 
Fer a troupe too poor to carry a band." 

57 



THE TOWN OF TAP. 

If I had to sentence a man for a crime, 
He'd never go to prison to work out his 

time, 
Nor swing from a gallows in a hangman's 

cap; 
He'd get something worse — I'd send him 

to Yap. 



If he lived there long his atonement he'd 

win; 
He couldn't get worse, whatever his sin. 
When he came to die, there is one thing 

sure — 
What he got after Yap would be easy to 

endure. 



58 




MY LADY MARIONETTE. 

I will tell you of a troupe, a wooden-headed 

group, 
Of figures who were called " Les Marion- 
ettes." 
In the program of the show, on some wires 

to and fro, 
They were made to dance the stately 

minuet ; 
At the finish of their act, in a box they all 

were packed, 
To there remain until the following day, 
But a wired electric light overhanging them 

one night 
Broke and from the ceiling chanced to fall 

their way, 
Then a bunch of lightning shocks went 

tearing through the box, 

59 



MY LADY MARIONETTE. 

Which brought to life these manikins of 

wood ; 
Quickly out from their retreat, they came 

scrambling to their feet, 
And there upon the stage each figure stood. 
Then the leading Marionette, on the little 

wood soubrette 
Shot glances at her in a love-lorn way, 
And with wobble-jointed stride, he hobbled 

to her side, 
And standing there amazed she heard him 

say: 

Oh, my Lady Marionette, as we've danced 
the minuet, 

For years Fve longed to tell you. of the 
feeling 

'That has split my heart of wood, so oft 
misunderstood, 

That now no power can stop my love re- 
vealing. 

So come to my arms, my Lady Marionette ; 

May I be turned to sawdust if my love I 
should forget, 
60 



MY LADY MARIONETTE. 

So to signify our pleasure, let us trip a 

stately measure, 
^To-night we'll need no wires to dance, my 

Lady Marionette. 

But a witness of the scene comes now to 

intervene, — 
None other than the Villain Marionette. 
For him no deed too vile, with his wicked 

leering smile, 
He too would have the little wood 

soubrette. 
When he saw the loving pair, he hissed 

and tore his hair, 
And vowed he cut the hero's heart in twain, 
But the latter fearing naught, his blade he 

quickly sought, 
And soon the blows were falling there like 

rain. 
All the figures held their breath, watched 

the duel to the death, 
As in and out and round the stage they flew. 
Every thrust the hero made, with his keen 

and trusty blade, 

61 



MY LADY MARIONETTE. 

From the wooden villain clipped a chip or 

two. 
Till at last reduced to pegs were the villain's 

wooden legs, 
Then followed both his arms, his trunk 

and head. 
As the hero watched him die, said he, " My 

friend, you're one chip shy ! " 
Then turning to his lady love he said : 

Oh, my Lady Marionette, as we've danced 
the minuet, 

For years I've longed to tell you of the feeling 

That has split my heart of wood, so oft 
misunderstood, 

That now no power can stop my love re- 
vealing ; 

So come to my arms, my Lady Marionette ; 

May I be turned to sawdust if my love I 
should forget , 

So to signify our pleasure, let us trip a 
stately measure ; 

To-night we'll need no wires to dance, my 
Lady Marionette. 
62 




CONSTANCY. 



Fifty years we have journeyed this life to- 
gether. 
Does it seem that long to you, Asthore, 
Since firsht I came to your father's 
cottage 
And shyly knocked at the cabin door ? 

63 



CONSTANCY. 

Me heart shtood shtill whin you bade me 
enter. 
No queen could have ruled with more 
grace on a throne, 
As, held there, thransfixed by your royal 
beauty, 
I longed for the hour I could call ye me 
own. 

'Twas thin I learned that life widout ye 
Would be robbed of all charm, leave 
nothin' but tears. 
How I guarded meself against such a mis- 
fortune 
Is easily seen by the pasht fifty years. 

We have had our full measure of sadness 
an' sorrow. 
Whin th' burdens were heavy, we each 
bore our share ; 
But sunshine will ever come forth from th' 
shadow, 
An' thrue love will banish th' clouds of 
despair. 

6 4 



CONSTANCY. 



Though we've nearly come to th' end of 
our journey, 
Let us both shtill continue to cheer with 
a song. 
When the hour comes to pass to th' home 
of hereafter, 
God grant whin we part it will not be 
for long. 



65 




THE CHEE-TAU-QUAY. 

I want to tell yeou 'beout a time we hed 

the other day, 
Me an' all the fam'ly deown to the Chee- 

tau-quay. 
They'd been advertisin' of it, fer sev'ral 

months er more, — 
Posters in the Post Office an' at th' groc'ry 

store ; 
But th' fust real infermation I got abeout 

the thing 
Was when Jane, my eldest darter, came 

hum from Normal School this spring. 
She couldn't talk 'beout nothin' else; sed 

" 'Twould be an uplift for us all." 
I told her we got our " uplift " when the 

cyclun struck las' fall, 
But if 'twas all 'twas advertised an' sech 

an all-fired show, 

66 



THE CHEE-TAU-QUAY. 

I'd drop my plantin' fer a spell an' fix 

things so's to go. 
Well, we got up bright an' airly, hed the 

childern washed an' drest, 
Wife put on her new alpacca — I got eout 

my flowered vest. 
There wuz me an' Mandy, Jane an' Hi, 

the twins, an' Willum J. 
An' 'beout nine o'clock that mornin' we 

struck the Chee-tau-quay. 
Ye never see sech crowds er folks, seemed 

like from everywhere, — 
Ministers an' schoolmarms, ol' an' young, 

wuz gathered there. 
They hed a great big circus tent with a 

rostrum on one side, 
An' 'twas here, Jane tol us, that the talunt 

would preside. 
Well, 'beout ten o'clock they rung a bell 

an' the band begun to play, 
An' folks commenced to crowd the tent, 

mor'n er thousand, I should say. 
They played a piece called " Susie's 

March" — 'twould lift you off the seat. 
67 



THE CHEE-TAU-QUAY. 

A preacher jest in front uv me hed ter fairly 

hold his feet. 
I felt jest like a two-year-old, seemed like 

I walked on air, 
Haint herd sech all-round music sence the 

Red Rock County Fair. 
Then four fellers took the rostrum an' 

sung a song abeout ther sea, — 
Fer vocal satisfaction, they just suited 

to a T. 
They wuz really so extray-fine we hed to 

hev them back, 
An' they responded by singin' 'beout a 

" Teacher and a Tack." 
Funny ? Jeekus-Pokus ! It seemed as if 

I'd split, 
An' Willum J. jest hollered, we thought 

he'd hev a fit ! 
Then they hed a Minister's Conference, 

beat any Camp Meetin' on earth, — 
Talk abeout yer argifyin', there's where 

yer got yer money's worth. 
Every sect wuz ripresented, Baptists an' 

Cammelites, 

69 



THE CHEE-TAU-QUAT. 

Metherdists an' Lutherans, all clamoring 

for their rights. 
Each hed his own opinion abeout 

theology, 
Their doctrines wuz diffrunt, but on one 

thing they'd agree, — 
To beat the devil reound the stump in the 

good old-fashioned way, 
But that I learnt 'z the objeck of the Chee- 

tau-quay. 
They hadn't more'n finished 'fore the band 

commenced ter play 
Ter summons folks tergether fer the dis- 
course of ther day. 
We all trooped over to the tent and got a 

good front seat ; 
Somethin' seemed ter tell me we wuz goin' 

ter hev a treat. 
The Quartette sung another song, follered 

by a prayer, 
Then a common-lookin' feller riz up 

slowly from a chair 
An' wuz interdooced as " Sam'l Jones," 

who would try to find a way 
70 



THE CHEE-TAU-QUAT. 

Ter occupy ther 'tention with a few things 

he might say. 
Wal — talk abeout yeour preachers, boy 

orators and sich, 
Why, the way he larruped ev'ry thing, it 

cert'nly wuz rich ! 
He'd take the Presbyterians and roast them 

to a breown, 
And when the Methodists 'ud laff, he'd 

turn right straight areound, 
And flail them wuss than t'others. Then 

he'd go fer hypercrits. 
He more than trimmed their whiskers and 

fairly give 'em fits. 
He'd tell some simple story that 'ud fill 

yer eyes with tears, 
Then he'd show yer yer shortcummings 

with all yer doubts and fears. 
The power he hed to poke truths home, 

I tell yer 'twas immense, 
And underneath it all there wuz alius such 

good hoss sense. 
He kep' it up fer full two hours, when he 

stopped 'twas still as death, — 
7i 



THE CHEE-TAU-QUAY. 

Everybody jest a-starin' and a-holdin' uv 

ther breath. 
I've heard some p'litical speeches and some 

sermons in my day, 
But he cert'ly beat anything thet ever come 

my way. 
Along abeout dark we started hum, the 

moon a-smilin' deoun, 
Seemin' glad to be of service, as we jour- 
neyed frum the town. 
We got reound hum beout 'leven er-clock, 

an' I've got this much ter say : — 
That fer satisfaction guaranteed — give me 

the Chee-tau-quay. 



72 



DISCONTENT. 

In a shady nook by a babbling brook 
Which ran through the heart of a wood, 
A lily fair with queenly air 
Like a lonely sentinel stood. 



And a friendship grew between the 

two, 
The brook and the lily fair, 
And every look of the tinkling brook 
Told of a passion rare. 



And all day long the brook's glad 

song 
Echoed the woodland through, 
And it told such a tale of hill and dale, 
That the lily restless grew. 

73 



DISCONTENT. 



Till it said with a sigh, " Oh! would that I 
Might have the power to flee 
Away from the wood and its solitude, 
And go down with the brook to the sea. 



" Why should I live and my fragrance give 
To a spot so cheerless and dark ? 
There is nothing here to bring me cheer 
And I long to be free like the lark." 



Then the little brook wore a troubled look, 
And its song seemed sad all day ; 
As the lily sighed the brook replied, 
" You know not what you say ! " 



" Should you ever roam from this wood- 
land home, 
You would find that the world out there 
Is filled with grief and unbelief, 
And that honest hearts are rare. 

75 



DISCONTENT. 



" But here in the wood one feels the good 
That follows a life that is pure; 
God sends from above his tokens of love 
That we may live and endure." 



But each kind word only deeper stirred 
The desire in the lily fair 
To be off and away to an endless day 
Where beauty was everywhere. 



How little is known of the seeds that are 

sown 
By the demon Discontent ! 
Like a poisoned dart, they enter the heart 
Until it is torn and rent. 



There came a day when the song so gay 
Of the brook was hushed and low, 
For the lily at last its spell had cast 
O'er the brook that had loved it so. 

76 



DISCONTENT. 

When the morning light pushed back the 

night 
And the sun rose out of the East, 
The lily found that the cheering sound 
Of the little brook had ceased. 



Then the lily knew what is all too true, 
That Discontent in the heart, 
If left to thrive, will surely drive 
The dearest of friends apart. 



As twilight fell o'er the woody dell, 
Gone was the brook from its bed ; 
While drooping there so white and fair, 
By its side lay the lily dead. 



77 




NO MAN WAS EVER KNOWN 

TO 'ANG FOR WOT 'E 

DIDN'T SOY. 



I 'ad a pal some years ago, 'is name was 

'Enry Ide ; 
It must 'ave been near twenty years since 

'Enry hup and died ; . 
If ever 'e got in a scrape 'e wouldn't soy 

a word — 
'E'd shut hup like a hoyster — not a seound 

from 'im was 'eard. 

78 



NO MAN WAS EVER KNOWN TO ANG 
FOB WOT 'E DIDN'T SOY. 

The other cove might storm areound an' 

blow 'im hinside eout, 
But 'Enry seemed all hinnercent of wot 

'twas all abeout — 
Then afterward Vd drop 'is heye in a 

knowin' sort o' woy, 
A smile would steal across 'is face an' then 

you'd 'ear 'im soy : 

Hit's never well to talk too much; you 11 

find that hi/ you do, 
You 11 ' ave a 'eap o trouble a-piliri on to 

you; 
Hits better far to 'old your tongue, look 

hinnercent and shoy — 
No man was ever known to 'ang for wot 

'<? didnt soy. 

Now Ide 'e howned a parrot once, a sacri- 
legious bird, 

Hits language hit was horful, quite the 
worst I ever 'eard ; 

One day hit sat upon the stoop when a 
stray dog passed hits cage — 
79 



NO MAN WAS EVEK KNOWN TO ANG 
FOE WOT 'E DIDN'T SOY. 

At sight of this poor 'omeless cur, Poll 

flew into a rage. 
She yelled an' squawked an' called the dog 

a most hoffensive name ; 
The dog then made a dash at Poll — 'e 

surely wan't to blame. 
'E chewed Poll's tail hoff, bit 'er wings, an' 

left 'er there 'alf dead ; 
Just then Ide came hupon the scene an' 

this to Polly said : 

Hit's never well to talk too much; you 11 

find that hif you do, 
You 11 ' ave a 'eap d trouble a-pilin on to 

you ; 
Hit 's better far to 'old your tongue, look 

hinnercent an shoy — 
No man was ever known to 'ang for wot 

' e didnt soy. 

One night Ide got a bit too much while 
dining with some friends, — 

Good liquor an' good fellowship to a flow 
of reason tends ; 
80 



NO MAN WAS EVEE KNOWN TO ANG 
FOE WOT 'E DIDN'T SOY. 



Ide's tongue at last was loosened, an' when 

'e reached 'is 'ouse 
At midnight 'e was greeted by 'is fond and 

loving spouse. 
'E started then to rail at 'er an' tell 'er wot 

'e thought 
Habout th' duties hof a woife, — 'twas 

pleasure dearly bought; 
She grabbed poor Ide, an' cuffed 

'is ears, then threw 'im on 

the floor, 
An' standing there she softly^ 

spoke these words 'ed 'eard 

before ; 




Hit's never well to talk too much; you 11 

find that hi/ you do, 
You 11 'ave a 'eap o' trouble a-pilin on to 

you. 
Hit's better far to 'old your tongue, look 

hinnercent an shoy — 
No man was ever known to ' ang for wot 

' e didn't soy. 

81 




THE LAST STRAW. 

His name is Litzschaikowtzski, — 
Whene'er he telephones, 
He wishes good kind Providence 
Had christened him plain Jones. 

For when a voice says, "Name, please? " 
And he does his best to tell it — 
The limit surely has been reached 
When echo answers, " Spell it ! " 



82 



THE COLORED 
LOCHINVAR. 



A coon named Ephrum Bascom 

loved a Miss Amelia Barr. 
One night she told him 'bout th' ride of 

gay young Lochinvar ; 
She filled Eph's head with romance 'bout 

knights of high degree, 
Of barons bold, an' ladies fair, an' deeds 

of chivalry. 
Next day Eph stole an ol' gray mule, then 

made a suit of tin ; 
An' like those knights he'd heard about 

rode forth his bride to win. 
He galloped to Amelia's house, an' as she 

lay in bed 
She heard Eph's voice out in the road, 

an' this is what he said : 



83 




THE COLORED LOCHINVAR. 

O Miss Amelia, Tve come to steal y eh, 
An take yd way from heah I dont care 

whar. 
Come be my blushiri bride, an dis milk 

white steed we'll ride, 
So come out an join yd colored Lochinvar. 



The noise awoke Amelia's dad, an' think- 
ing that some thief 
Was prowling 'round, he grabbed his gun 

and started after Eph. 
Through the window pane he thrust the 

gun, then fired at Ephrum's head. 
Th' shot went low an' the old gray mule 

received th' charge instead. 
Fo' a minute all was still as death, then 

waiting fo' no' mo' 
Th' mule let out an awful wail an' down 

th' road he toah. 
Amelia called out, " Lochinvar, oh, come 

back to youah bride," 
But Eph had othah business, an thus to 

her replied : 

8 4 



THE COLOBED LOCHINVAB. 

O Miss Amelia^ I got to leave you, 
Fmgwine to let you stay jeswhah yd are; 
Don't talk no mo to me 'bout dem knights 

an chivalry , 
Yd can get some othah coonfd Lochinvar. 



85 



A DEPARTMENT STORE 
DITTY. 

Oh, how well do I remember ! 
'Twas a warm day in September 
That I foolishly went shopping 

With my wife, a two months' bride. 
As o'er the trip I ponder, 
I vow ne'er again to wander 
Into one of those department-stores, 

No matter who my guide. 

She carefully approached me, 

And she wheedled and she coaxed me 

To go along and help select 

A pattern for a dress. 
Little did I think on starting 
Of how near we'd come to parting 
Before we ended up that trip 

Of sorrow and distress. 

87 



A DEPARTMENT STOKE DITTY. 

It was " Bargain Day," she told me, 
As the store we entered boldly ; 
I thought there was a riot 

When we got inside the door. 
There were females of all ages, 
Some who ought to be in cages ; 
For they fought like wild hyenas 

Rushing madly through the store. 



My heart was palpitating, 
And my eyes with fear dilating, 
As I gazed in terror at the scene 

Which now before us passed. 
Like a storm upon the ocean 
Was this terrible commotion, 
And something seemed to tell me 

That this moment was our last. 



Into this vortex whirling, 
With my coat-tails round me curling, 
We plunged together, vowing 
That we'd get that dress or die. 

83 



A DEPARTMENT STORE DITTY. 

But what a foolish notion ! 

When we struck that whirlpool 

motion 
We were rudely torn asunder, 

With no chance to say " Good- 'f[ 
bye !" 



A big fat woman grasped me, 
And in her arms she clasped me, 
Then straightened back and threw 
me 

Some twenty feet or more. 
I felt a sudden crashing, 
Through a skylight I went dashing, 
And when I gained my senses 

I was on the basement floor. 



Here were clothes-pins, tubs and blueing, 
Washboards, mops, and pans for stewing, 
And stacks of kitchen furniture 
Where'er my eyes would roam. 

89 




A DEPARTMENT STORE DITTY. 

I had no time to tarry, 
But ran like " the old Harry," 
And up the stairs I made a dash 
For " Home, Sweet Home." 

But when I gained the landing 
I found a bluecoat standing ; 
My crazy-like appearance 

Was suspicious, I've no doubt ; 
Then he set my blood congealing 
As he roared," So ! you've been stealing. 
We've been watching you for weeks, 
young man, 

And now we've found you out." 

Then toward the street we started, 

But soon we too got parted. 

Some females formed a flying wedge, 

And away went Mr. Cop. 
I offered no objection 
To his seeming disaffection, 
But 'round I went, gyrating; 

I couldn't seem to stop. 
90 



A DEPARTMENT STOEE DITTY. 



I heard a shrill voice calling ; 
" Cash !" on the air was falling ; 
And knowing that my wife would be 

Wherever that was found, 
For this spot I now went tearing, 
For my safety little caring, 
If I could only reach the place 

And find her safe and sound. 



There I saw her calmly standing, 
While to her a clerk was handing 
A measly little bundle ; 

'Twas the cause of all my woe. 
Then turning she smiled sweetly, 
And stepping up to greet me, 
Said, " Oh, here you are, my darling, 

Are you ready now to go ?" 




That she was sane I doubted. 
" Ready ?" I loudly shouted, 
" Well, you can bet I'm ready." 
Then I grasped her by the wrist. 



91 



A DEPARTMENT STORE DITTY. 

"In the future when you're dropping 
Into this mad-house shopping, 
Please remember it's my busy day 
And scratch me off your list." 

Now before I'm disappearing, 
To all married men in hearing 
I have a word of warning, 

And perhaps 't will save your life. 
Get a football suit well padded, 
Have a course in wrestling added ; 
For you certainly will need them 

If you're shopping with your wife. 



92 




^ 



THE DESERTED FARM. 



By an old, deserted farm I chanced to pass 

to-day, 
With its battered windows, sunken roof, 

and clapboards warped and gray. 
And looking through the open door at 

rooms now cold and bleak, 
I thought of all that it might tell if it could 

only speak ; 
Of the joy it gave the loving pair who 

first came years ago, 
And called it home and sat beside the fire- 
side's ruddy glow. 
While winter storms beat loud against the 

frosty window-pane, 
No matter what the world outside, here 

peace within would reign. 

93 



THE DESEBTED FARM. 



I felt the kitchen's genial warmth, with 

pans like burnished steel, 
And heard the steady droning of the good 

wife's spinning wheel. 
I saw the evening shadows on the wall flit 

to and fro, 
The rafters hung with ears of corn and 

peppers in a row; 
Then Christmas-time and the relatives who 

gathered once a year 
Around the board weighed down with all 

its wealth of homely cheer. 
The table cleared, then came the strife 

beneath the mistletoe 
To gain the kiss that caused the blush on 

maiden cheek to glow. 



The seasons change, the years roll on, the 
tenants come and go ; 

Each has his cup of pleasure, and each his 
share of woe. 

First comes the happy wedding; then- 
death turns joy to tears ; 

94 



THE DESERTED FARM. 

Thus follows each successive scene that 

marks the passing years. 
How like the tenants of the past : — naught 

now remains to tell 
Of all its former glory but the old deserted 

shell. 
Its mouldering form will soon return to 

dust from whence it came ; 
Then all that's left to mark the spot is 

the memory of its name. 



With weather-beaten visage this old 
deserted farm 

Brings back the days of long ago, with 
all their added charm 

To those who revel in the past and by- 
gone memories seek, 

Oh, what a story it might tell, if it could 
only speak. 



95 





A BOY'S COMPLAINT. 

My Ma spends nearly all the 
time 
A-findin fault with me ; 
Ses my manners are jes' 
shockin' 
An' mos' scanalous to see. 

An' every time that comp'ny 
comes 
I drive her nearly wild ; 
She says that folks '11 surely 
say 
I am a spoiled child. 

I never do a single thing 

That seems to her jes' right; 
An' it's " Henry, don't ! " and 
" Henry, sh-h," 
From mornin' until night. 
9 6 



A BOY S COMPLAINT. 

I'm gettin purty sick of it, 

An' if I aint let be, 
I'll take my bank an' empty it 

An' run away to sea. 

Because I use my knife fer pie, 

Ma thinks it is a sin ; 
The last time that 1 used a fork 

I jabbed it in my chin. 

It's perfeckly disgustin', 

These rules they make fer boys ; 
Wy don't folks mind their business 

An' quit harpin' 'bout " our noise ? " 

Boys is like the animals, 

They like to feel they're free 

To romp around and shake theirselves, 
An' see what they can see. 

And if they wants to bite their nails, 
Er cross their legs, er dance, 

Why not let 'em do it, 

Even if they tear their pants ? 

97 



A BOY S COMPLAINT. 



I'm jest a-longin' fer the time 

When I'll be big like Pa, 
And shave myself and stay out nights, 

An' answer back to Ma. 

If ever that time comes, you bet, 

I'll be dignified, an' say, 
" Too much manners is bad fer boys, 

An' now you're gettin' your pay." 



98 



A 




OCTOBER. 

The foliage now is slowly turning, 
Shifting its summer cloak of green 

To one surpassing royal splendor, 

The gift of Autumn to woodland scene. 

The hilltops, one vast blaze of glory, 
Seen decked in holiday attire, 

Tinging the sky with a color vivid 

As light that glows from some forest fire. 

The voices of Nature's myriad children 

In plaintive key on our senses fall, 
Hinting of days when the warmth of 
Autumn 
Will be chilled by Winter's snow-white 
pall. 

We thus are brought to an understanding 
Of the perfectness of the Master's plan — 

To make of nature a mighty canvas, 
The paintings thereon His gift to man. 

99 







GOOD EVENIN' MISTAH MOON? 



When Enoch Thompson hummed a bar 

of " Sweet By-and-By " 
You knew a truck-patch soon would be a 

water-milyun shy, 
An' one patch in pa'ticular was his supreme 

delight, 
An' to this spot he wandered on a dark 

an' cloudy night. 
Beneath the fence he crawled with care, an' 

there upon his knees 
A big round juicy milyun he was just 

about to seize, 
When sudden from behind a cloud the 

moon burst forth and shed 
Its light on Enoch, who looked up and 

sheepishly then said : 



GOOD EVENIN , MISTAH MOON. 

Why good evening Mistah Moon, I say 

good eveniri ', 
Ahrit you 'peariri rather soon Wound 

heah dis eveniri ? 
Ise some special work to do, ari de less 

I see of you 
I'd appreciate exceedingly dis eveniri. 
So good eveniri , Mistah Moon, I say 

good eveniri ', 
You re appeariri much too soon Wound 

heah dis eveniri . 
I dorit like yd company, it's obnoxious 

like to me, 
So good eveniri , Mistah Moon, I say 

good eveniri . 

Now Enoch loved a dusky maid, Cadosia 

Green by name, 
One look from her was quite enough to 

set his heart aflame ; 
But old man Green had vowed he would 

fill Enoch full of shot, 
If he caught him with Cadosia he would 

shoot him on the spot. 



GOOD EVENIN , MISTAH MOON. 

From a party Enoch had returned with 

her one evening late, 
And sheltered by the darkness they stood 

cooing by the gate. 
'Twas Enoch's chance to claim a kiss ; 

" Yum- Yum " he might have said, 
But alas ! jus' then the moon burst forth 

an' this was heard instead : 

Why good evenin , Mist ah Moon, I say 

good evenin , 
Ahrit you 'pearin rather soon Wound 

heah dis evenin ? 
Ise some special work to do, an de less 

I see of you 
I'd appreciate exceedingly dis evenin . 
So good evenin, Mist ah Moon, I say 

good evenin , 
You re appearin much too soon round 

heah dis evenin . 
I dont like yd company, if s obnoxious 

like to me, 
So good evenin , Mist ah Moon, I say, 

good evenin '. 
1 02 



CALAMITY BROWN. 



Talk about misfortune! there 

was a feller in our town, 
His name was Roscoe Ebenezer 

Adoniram Brown, 
It started when he got that name, 

and from that very day 
He kep a-hevin' accidents, an' 

sickness came his way. 




Before he reached the age of two he'd hed 

the whoopin'-cough, 
Measles, croup an' chilblains, an' blown a 

finger off. 
His afflictions were so numerous that he 

got a wide renown, 
An' folks would always speak of him as 

ol' Calamity Brown. 

v>3 



CALAMITY BKOWN. 



He'd hed the rheumatism, warts, scurvy 

an' the gout ; 
Also hed all kinds of cramps (they turned 

him inside out), 
Appendicitis, wakeful nights, an' bunions 

on his feet, 
Dyspepsia, rash an' rickets, salt-rheum an' 

prickly heat. 



He'd been run over by the cars, been bitten 

by a snake, 
Captured by the Indians who tried to burn 

him at the stake. 
Struck by lightning, broke a leg falling 

from a tree, 
Nearly drowned while bathing, an' got 

water on the knee. 



In spite of these afflictions, which brought 

so many stings, 
Brown's trouble took another course ; it 

began by losin' things. 
104 



CALAMITY BROWN. 



At first he lost his pocket-book, followed 

by his cane, 
Next he lost a bunch of keys, and then his 

watch and chain ; 



Then he lost his favorite horse, together 

with his cow ; 
A cyclone took his flock of hens, a stone 

drag and a plow. 
One day he tried to blast some rocks from 

off a neighbor's farm ; 
The thing went prematurely off an' he lost 

a leg an' arm. 



The blast took hair an' eyebrows, also took 

his sight ; 
This caused a loss of memory, his nerve 

an' appetite. 
Brown had a tragic ending; as he lay one 

day in bed 
He thought of all he had endured, and 

then he lost his head. 

i°5 




LITTLE DAN CUPID. 



Have you heard of that fly little, sly little 
man, Dan Cupid by name, or diminu- 
tive Dan ? 

A marksman and hunter whose one aim in 
life, is to change youth and maid into 
husband and wife. 

With a quiver of arrows and a cute little 
bow, a heart is the target he always 
lays low. 

106 



LITTLE DAN CUPID. 



So if marriage is hateful and distasteful the 
plan, watch out for the darts of 
diminutive Dan. 
My, eye ! What a smart little man 
Is the party we know as diminutive Dan. 

Dan, Dan, Dan. Always hunting a 

maid or a man. 
In all kinds of weather, to bring them 

together he tries just as hard as 

he can. 
So beware of this fly little fellow, with 

the shrewd matrimonial plan. 
I bet you he'd get you, if ever he met 

you, this fly little, sly little man. 



Now a bachelor once said he'd heard 
quite enough of the conquests of 
Cupid, 'twas rubbish and stuff. 

Then he challenged Dan's prowess, called 
marriage a joke, said he never would 
place his neck under the yoke. 



107 



LITTLE DAN CUPID. 

Quickly Dan spied a spinster, and then 
like a flash, shot a dart through her 
heart and this bachelor rash. 
When they married, Dan's gift was a 
lemonade set, with these words, " To 
the groom. Lest you ever forget." 
My, eye What a bright little man. 
When there's wooing a-brewing, then 
watch out for Dan. 

Dan, Dan, Dan. Always hunting a 

maid or a man. 
In all kinds of weather, to bring them 

together he tries just as hard as 

he can. 
So beware of this fly little fellow, with 

the shrewd matrimonial plan. 
I bet you he d get you, if ever he met 

you, this fly little, sly little man. 



1 08 



"CR. AND DR." 

There are three little letters in the alphabet 
Which in two different groups are fre- 
quently met ; 
One is an r, and preceded by D 
Tells a very different tale than when fol- 
lowing C. 



Of this same little story these two groups 

tell, 
One smacks of heaven, while the other is 

— well, 
You share my opinion, I am positive you 

do, 
If ever you have dallied with an I. O. U. 
109 



CK. AND DK. 



When Dr. at the end of your name takes 

place, 
Trouble starts brewing at a very rapid pace ; 
But oh, what a difference in life's great game 
When Cr. occurs at the end of your name ! 



Now, friend, should you wish to keep your 

stock above par, 
Be careful which letter precedes the r, 
Do the best that you can to always make C 
Join forces with r instead of with D. 



3IO 



A KEEPSAKE. 

The night was still, and peeping through 
the treetops 
The harvest moon hung radiant in the 
sky, 
Revealing by its light two lovers sighing 

And living o'er again the days gone by. 
She turns at length, and, trembling with 
emotion, 
Her voice betraying feelings deeply 
stirred, 
She hands to him a something in the moon- 
light 
And this is what the night wind over- 
heard : 




Take this little token as a keepsake, 

Treasure it in memory s wreath, I beg ; 

It's just a little leaf of birds eye maple, 
A leaf that grew on father s wooden leg. 



A KEEPSAKE. 

He took the little leaf with fear and trem- 
bling, 
For well did he remember how he had 
Been kicked clean from the porch oft in 
the darkness 
And chased by her old wooden-legged 
dad. 
Once more he felt its imprint of affection 
That caused him to remain ten days in 
bed, 
And recollecting all that leg had cost him, 
He crushed the leaf within his hand and 
said : 

I'll take this little token, but hereafter 
In my nightly prayers there s one thing 
I will beg, 
'That no sign of life in him will sprout to 
haunt me 
As this leaf that grew upon his wooden 
leg. 




HAY FEVER. 

Hay fever's reound agin — 

Feel it in the air, 
Woods are full of victims, 

Sneezin' everywhere. 

Gits areound as reg'lar 

As Fo'tho' July; 
Ain't no way o' stoppin' it, 

Don't care heow you try. 

Smellin' salts an' atomizers 

Ain't worth a sou ; 
When yeou git th' ginooine 
It's all off with veou. 



See the poor afflicted, — 

Ev'ry little breeze 
Makes 'em draw a long breath, 

Then sneeze, an' sneeze, an' sneeze. 

"3 



HAT FEVEB. 



Ef yeou want a riot 

An' be buried neath th' sod, 
Jes' catch a few hay feverites 

An' shake some golden-rod. 

Out '11 come th' handkerchiefs, 
Tears '11 start to flow ; 

Then you'll hear a version 
Of "Blow, Bugle, Blow!" 

Never was but one cure, 
So I've heard it said; 

Feller bought a shot-gun 
An' then blew off his head. 



"4 



OH, WOE IS ME. 

My wife she bought a cook- 
book called " The Young 
Housekeeper's Guide," 

All sorts of culinary feats 
were chronicled inside. 

She read the book, then hied 
herself into a hardware 
store 

And bought a stock of bak- 
ing tins, some fifty kinds 
or more. 

There were strainers, drain- 
ers, roasters, toasters, with 
now and then a few 

Lemon squeezers, ice-cream freezers, forks 
and funnels, too. 

Imagine when I saw this pile, the awful 
shock to me, 

But what was worse the bill with them was 
labeled C. O. D. 




"5 



OH, WOE IS ME. 

Sing woe to me, not ho to me, for it's woe to 

me inside 
Ever since my wife she bought that "Young 

Housekeeper 1 s Guide. ' ' 
I've read about the awful things a rarebit 

fiend will see, 
But when it comes to nightmares caused by 
food, he's an amateur to me. 

That very day she started in to try her 

first receipt ; 
She said 't would be raised biscuits and 

they'd be, " oh, such a treat ! " 
I found that was their proper name — they 

raised things, that 's no lie. 
They came near raising me all right to 

" mansions in the sky." 
I next ate what the book described 

"broiled English sparrow's wing." 
I felt so English that for hours I cried 

" Long live the King ! " 
She followed this with "layer cake," — how 

I suffered eating that ! 
For those layers laid for me all right, and 

then they laid me flat. 

116 



OH, WOE IS ME. 

Sing woe to me, not ho to me, for it's woe to 

me inside 
Ever since my wife she bought that " Young 

Housekeeper 's Guide." 
Tve read about the awful things a rarebit 

fiend will see, 
But when it comes to nightmares caused by 

food, he's an amateur to me. 

A receipt she called " shrimp wiggle " was 

a dish I'll ne'er forget. 
That shrimp it started wiggling, and, by 

Jove, it 's wiggling yet. 
Next came some rolls called Parker House, 

and if Parker could but see 
The torture his receipt produced, I know 

he'd pity me. 
After I had eaten all of them that she could 

bake, 
She asked me if I thought they were " like 

Mother used to make." 
I stammered "Yes!" and since that time 

that lie I can't forget, 
For though that lie was long since told, 

those rolls lie in here yet. 

117 




OH, WOE IS ME. 

Sing woe to me, not ho to me, for it's woe to 

me inside 
Ever since my wife she bought that "Young 

Housekeeper 's Guide." 
I've read about the awful things a rarebit 

fiend will see, 
But when it comes to nightmares caused by 

food, he's an amateur to me. 



BEFORE AND AFTER. 



BEFORE. 



We'd been engaged for just a week, 
And now that we must part, 

The thought of it was maddening, 
And it nearly broke my heart. 

As I waved her adieus from the. steamer 
She answered back from the pier, 

And I murmured softly to myself, 

"My, but isn't she dear ! " 

AFTER. 

A year has passed of married life, — 

I received a note to-day 
Written in Wifey's well-known hand, 

" Send me fifty right away ! " 
I thought of all she had cost me 

During that one brief year, 
And then I murmured softly, 

" My, but isn't she dear " ! 
119 




JkfcMTh, 




THE TIN PEDDLER. 

What now has become of the Yankee tin 
peddler ? 
Gone is this dickering tradesman of yore ; 
With rag-bag and steelyards this bartering 
meddler 
Has made his last trip through the old 
kitchen door. 



Perched high on his seat, a foe to bad 
weather ; 
When a storm hovered near he pulled 
in at the gate. 
Said, " Dampness and tinware don't mix 
well together. 
" Why, Grandma, good mawnin ! " and 
" How-de-do, Kate ! " 



THE TIN PEDDLEK. 

No five- and ten-cent stores, no bargain-day 
rushes, 
No trading-stamp nonsense were known 
in his day ; 
His traveling storehouse of pans, pails and 
brushes 
Has fulfilled its mission and now passed 
away. 

'Twas " Good mawnin', Mis' Ketcham." 
" Why, how-de-do, Aner, 
I've been lookin' for you nigh on to a 
week, 
I can't get a drop through that pesky old 
strainer, 
And the pan you last sold me 's done 
nothin' but leak." 

"Why, Lawdy, Mis' Ketcham, I meant to 

hev told ye 

My tinware's reversible, new patent plan ; 

If ye couldn't strain stuff through the 

strainer I sold ye, 

Why all ye need do is to jes' use th' pan." 



THE TIN PEDDLEK. 

His wit, like his visage, as sharp as a briar, 
Brought cheer and good-nature with 
never a pain. 
Oh, would that to-night you were here by 
our fireside 
To regale us with story and laughter 
again. 

So a toast to you, peddler ; in memory we 
treasure 
Your good-natured face, with the old 
tin-cart too ; 
We'll drink it in cider with equal good 
measure 
That was ever forthcoming when trading 
with you. 




THE MUMMY AND THE 
DUMMY. 



All the world's a stage, says Shakespeare, 

we the actors, life the play, 
And the tabloid one I'll mention, it 

occurred the other day. 
The principals a Mummy from an old 

Egyptian tomb, 
And a lady tailor's dummy. Scene : a 

musty auction room. 
For weeks stored in a corner, he had noted 

all her charms, 
And his mummy love seemed striving to 

enfold her in his arms. 
One evening in the darkness like an echo 

from the dead, 
His pent-up feelings burst all bounds, and 

this is what he said : 
123 




THE MUMMY AND THE DUMMY. 

Ob, I love you, Mistress Dummy, and 

when curios get chummy, 
A wedding is the sequel written in the 

book of Fate, 
And although Tm antiquated, still I'm 

sure if we were mated, 
Such a very novel union would be strictly 

up-to-date. 



But, alas, as often happens to a fond and 

loving pair, 
The plans the two had cherished proved 

but castles in the air. 
To a museum on the morrow in a box all 

packed with hay, 
Mr. Mummy from his Dummy he was 

rudely shipped away. 
While the latter, once so happy, now the 

saddest of her race, 
Is posing in a window somewhere down 

near Hay ward Place. 



124 



THE MUMMY AND THE DUMMY. 



And when twilight shadows hover round 

her form at close of day, 
Tears roll down her waxen features and 

she seems to hear him say : 

Oh, I love you, Mistress Dummy, and 
though far away, your Mummy 
Is sighing for his sweetheart with a 
passion ever true; 
And though rudely separated, rest assured 
until we're mated, 
I shall always keep a corner in my 
mummy heart for you. 




Now the sequel of our story: — in his 

museum home one day 
Mr. Mummy's trust was shattered in a 

most unseemly way. 
For a pair of wax-work figures on a bench 

across the aisle 
Were placed where all could see them as 

they wooed true lover style. 



125 



THE MUMMY AND THE DUMMY. 

Imagine what his feelings when the maiden 

of the pair 
Was seen to be none other than the tailor's 

dummy fair. 
Then his heart with grief seemed bursting 

and his breast with anger stirred 
As he framed and hissed this message 

which the fickle dummy heard : 

Oh, I loved you, Mistress Dummy, but 
hereafter when a mummy 
Is fool enough to let some tailor s dummy 
turn his head, 
I hope dynamite will Mow him where his 
mother wouldn't know him, 
For useless is the mummy who cant real- 
ize he's dead. 



126 




A QUESTION OF AUTHORITY. 

Hoi' on dah a minute, Mistah Preachah 
Man; 
Wha's dat ah un'erstan' yo' to say — 
Dat ah mus' agree to love an' 'onah dis 
man, 
An' likewise promise ah'll obey ? 

No, sah ! Don' yo' count on mah makin* 
dat mistake, 
It's one ah's made too many times befo\ 
Eve'y time ah's been mar'ied ah's 'lowed 
dat ve'y point, 
But ah nevah means to do it any mo'. 



De idea ! Obeying dis yeah jaundiced 
coh'loed coon, 
De suggestion am a insult to mah sex. 
Why de fact of mah 'greein' to honah such 
as him 
Lays me liable to p'rjury, ah specks. 
127 



A QUESTION OF AUTHORITY. 

Yo' men yo' seem to think dat yo' owners 

ob de earf, 

So't o' monarchs obah all dat yo' survey. 

If dis narrah-chested dahkey's goin' to take 

me fo' his wife, 

Dah'll be changes in dis mattah of obey. 

So Mistah Pahson, ah desiah yo' to 'radi- 
cate dat wohd 
Dat has alius been so 'noxious like to me, 
An' take notice what ah'm saying, if dis 
knot am fihmly tied, 
Ah'm de one dat yo' can look to fo' de 
fee. 



128 




PEOPLE ARE SO DIFFERENT. 

The people are so different in this gruff 
old world of ours, 

Some gather naught but rankest weeds, 
while others seek the flowers. 

Our tastes are such that of two roads one 
person seeks the right, 

The other takes the crooked path, as dark- 
ness shuns the light. 

So when a man comes 'long whose views 

are not like yours or mine, 
Don't treat him like a criminal or some 

base libertine ; 
Be generous to your neighbor, God's gifts 

are rare, 'tis true, 
Just think how others have been robbed 

to shower them all on you. 
129 



PLAY BALL, BILL. 

'Twas at a baseball game one day, 
Where I was passing an hour away, 
I chanced to hear some wisdom rare, 
The last thing I had looked for there. 
'Twas from the catcher, a wise old fox 
Who was coaching a youngster in the box 
Who badly needed a kindly word, 
And these are the ones 1 overheard. 



Get 'em over the plate ', Bill, play ball for fair ! 
Keep your feet on the ground, boy! Don't go 

up in the air ! 
Many a race has been landed, when it looked 

in doubt, 
No game is lost, Bill, till the last man's out. 
131 



PLAY BALL, BILL. 

Could Solomon wise, in word or deed, 
Give better advice to a friend in need ? 
And oftentimes in Life's great game, 
When trouble and worry around me came, 
I thought of the catcher, and once more 

heard 
The voice of cheer and the helpful word, 
And they served a mission and smoothed 

my way, 
As they helped his pal in the box that day. 



Get* em over the plate, Bill! Play ball for fair! 
Keep your feet on the ground, boy ! Don't go 

up in the air ! 
Many a race has been landed, when it looked 

in doubt, 
No game is lost, Billy till the last man's out. 



132 




STORIES. 

Since the days of Father Adam down to 

the present time, 
We've had the story-teller in every race 

and clime. 
Take David, for example, who caused 

Goliath's fall, 
And with his harp and well-told tales sub- 
dued old mad King Saul. 
Then came the wandering minstrel, along 

the King's highway, 
Who lightened many an aching heart with 

song and roundelay. 
His hour is brief who tells the tale and 

soon, perchance, he lies 
In some neglected churchyard, but the 

story never dies. 

The jester, too, with cap and bells and 

many a mirthful tale, 
Comes next with quick and merry prank, 

his master to regale, 

133 



STORIES. 

By cottage hearth, at wayside inn, around 

the roaring fire, 
We find the tale continued by the youth 

and gray-haired sire. 
The lover 'neath the casement of his lady's 

sheltered bower 
Pours forth sly Cupid's story, unmindful 

of the hour. 
And so down through the misty past, they 

march an endless throng 
With sunshine in their story and laughter 

in their song. 

Stories ! Stories ! Stories I new and old. 

Stories well related, stories badly told. 

We hear them from the pulpit, on the street 

and railway car. 
At banquet, office, from the bench, in fact, 

where' er we are. 
So, as the story is the thing, to be right up to 

date 
I, too consign my humble share and leave the 

rest to fate. 




uEC 17 190*? 



